


just wait a minute

by finkpishnets



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Angry Kissing, Fights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14213562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: Paul thinks they might be fighting.





	just wait a minute

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon who requested 'horita's first fight as a couple' and the anon who requested 'will calling paul "saint paul" and paul shutting him up with a kiss'. 
> 
> this is not at all what i intended to write, but in a lot of ways it was nice to remember that will can be a complete dick when he's emotional? (i love him.) i feel there's a lot more in this i'd like to unpack - particularly about will's build up of issues and the fact the show's not really given him any time to deal with them - but for now, there's this.

 

 

Paul thinks they might be fighting.

It’s not anything in particular and he doesn’t know _why_ , but there’s something about the way Will leans into him that feels less _flirty_ and more _challenging_. It’s not obvious; Will’s still laughing, holding the conversation, but there’s a glint in his eye that’s bordering on dangerous and Paul’s trying to work out when the mood between them shifted.

Will orders another round, and Paul accepts his beer with a smile and tries not to stare at the way Will’s fingers curl around the neck of his bottle. There’s a smirk pulling at the corner of Will’s lips as he takes a drink, and Paul gets the feeling he’s made a bad move in a game he hadn’t even known he was playing.

They’ve moved from counting dates to _together_ , slow and easy, and it’s still new but it’s beginning to feel comfortable in a happy, disbelieving kind of way, so this shift feels weird and confusing, leaving Paul sitting on the edge of his seat and preemptively imagining the damage control.

“Hi boys,” Kayla says, interrupting, and Will’s eyes glitter dangerously. “Paul, I was hoping to catch you. We have these new bookshelves arriving this week. I’ve got full shifts, and Steve was supposed to put them up but—”

“ _But_ he’s still nowhere near fit for DIY,” Paul says, understanding, and Kayla offers him a sheepish smile. Neither of them say Steve’s lucky for that to even be a problem.

“I know you’re already taking on a double workload, but I don’t suppose…” She trails off, and Paul’s nodding before he thinks about it, already mentally reworking his hectic schedule so he can find an afternoon amidst caseloads and family and time spent with Will.

“Sure,” he says, and Kayla’s shoulders relax in a parody of relief.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says. “I’ll give you a call once I have a delivery time. Have a nice evening, boys.”

“Such a saint,” Will says once she’s walked away, taking a long pull of his beer, and Paul laughs, startled.

“I am not,” he says, and Will’s smile twists into something sharper.

“Yeah you are,” he says. “Saint Paul. Patron of baseball fans and lost puppies and good ol’ Salem townsfolk everywhere.”

“Okay,” Paul says. “Out of interest, are you itching for any argument, or is this a specific one?”

Will rolls his eyes, downing his beer and reaching for his coat. “It’s too crowded in here.”

Paul digs out a few bills to cover their tab and follows him out.

“Hey,” he says, catching up just as Will hits the square. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not really,” Will says, and everything about him looks pulled tight and ready to snap.

“Will—” Paul says, and Will spins on his feet, stopping dead.

“God,” he says, “is this the only place to be in this stupid town? Can you go anywhere without running into people who want something?”

“You don’t like Salem?” Paul asks, confused, and Will huffs a dry laugh, like it should be obvious.

“It’s like it got stuck in fifties mid-America, albeit with a whole _three_ people out the closet,” he says. “They might as well use the _Cheers_ theme as the town anthem. Nod and smile and stab someone in the back, and go your merry way. It’s barely more than a low-budget Hollywood set!”

“What,” Paul says, calmly, “the hell.”

“I just—” Will says, pushing an agitated hand through his hair. “Doesn’t it drive you _crazy?_ Doesn’t it make you want to crawl out of your skin? I mean, you must have noticed this town is full of sociopaths, right? Worse, sociopaths who know _everything about each other._ It’s _suffocating_.” 

“Okay,” Paul says, and pushes his hands in his pockets to stop himself reaching out. He’s pretty sure a comforting hand on the shoulder is the last thing Will needs right now. “Okay. I get what you’re saying. It’s a small town, a lot of big families married into each other, and everyone’s a gossip, and, yeah, it definitely has its fair share of drama. And I get that it can take a lot of getting used to; hell, before I moved here I didn’t even know people lived like this. I’m California born, and highway to baseball field bred.

What I don’t get,” he says, “is why you’re taking it out on me.”

“Because you’re part of the problem!” Will says, voice high and raised and hurtful. “The picture perfect gentleman, the humble celebrity with a heart of gold. You play the part _perfectly_.”

Paul takes a deep breath and tries not to let the words do permanent damage in the space just south of his heart.

“I’m none of those things,” he says, “and I think one of us needs to walk away now before we say something we regret.”

Will snorts, stepping closer. “Before _I_ say something I regret, you mean. You’re still perfectly composed.”

He says it like an insult, eyes raking over Paul’s face, and Paul still doesn’t understand where this has come from but it’s bringing back too many memories of the old days, the ones this Will doesn’t remember, and Paul’s as fed up of it now as he was then.

“Stop,” he says, and isn’t surprised when Will laughs.

“Why?” he says. “You know I’m right. Sonny _ditched you_ at the _altar_ , then _blamed_ you for it, and you barely raised your _voice_. You thought your dad was poisoning someone and you freaked out for a grand total of ten minutes. Does _anything_ faze you?”

Will’s eyes are ablaze, cruel and mocking and passionate, and Paul’s hands clench into fists in his pockets, everything in him screaming to step back even as he refuses to give ground. Will’s _angry_ , and Paul knows it’s not about him, not really, but he also knows _Will_ , and it’s obvious he’s been bottling this up for weeks, months, since Memphis and Sami and a whole new life. He’s also sure Will doesn’t even know what they’re fighting about, not really, but it’s been simmering for so long he can’t control the effects, and Paul’s the one caught in the explosion. 

He should walk away, should give Will time to cool off and let him come to him when he’s ready to apologize.

He _should._

“Shut up,” he says instead, eyes narrowing.

Will looks giddy.

“Even with me,” he says. “I’m the guy you should hate, and yet you listened to me and forgave me and _screwed me_ , and you still look like you’re just waiting for the moment my memories come rushing back and I disappear in a cloud of dust.”

“I don’t—” Paul says, but it’s true, he knows it is. He’s been treating Will and this and _them_ like fragile glass, and it’s not the only true thing in Will’s rant of vitriol but it’s the only one in Paul’s control. “I don’t _mean_ to,” he says honestly, and Will glares, mad that Paul’s still not playing his part in this fight.

“Of course you don’t,” he says, and there’s barely a breath between them. “Saint Paul, pulling out chairs and holding hands and polite displays of parental approved public affection.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Paul says again, and he’s taken a step forward before he realizes. Will’s gaze is fierce.

“ _Saint Paul_ ,” he says again, slow and deliberate. “Everyone’s go-to guy. So nice. So polite. So ready to put himself out to make everyone else happy.” 

“And _what?_ ” Paul says, and can’t care that the words crack with anger. “What about it? What do you even _want_ here?”

“ _I want you to let go for one goddamn second_ ,” Will shouts, and Paul’s veins thrum with blood and anger and—

_And._

Will’s back hits the wall and Paul’s body pins him there, his palm curling over his cheek as he kisses Will hard enough to bruise. Will makes a choked noise and pushes at Paul’s shoulders only to pull him back in closer, pressing his thighs either side of Paul’s knee and biting at his bottom lip until Paul can taste copper. His hands have slid under the back of Paul’s shirt and Paul can feel Will’s belt buckle digging into his stomach, bound to leave an angry red mark.

The brick wall scrapes Paul’s knuckles as he tilts Will’s head back; Will groans and hitches his hips, nails leaving sharp crescents against Paul’s spine as he tries to get rid of whatever distance is left. Paul’s not breathing, not thinking, and somewhere in the haze he knows this isn’t the way to shut someone up, but Will’s dragging in harsh breaths between kisses and pushing down against Paul’s knee like this was the plan all along, and Paul _wants_ —

A sharp wolf-whistle startles him back to reality, and he drags his lips away, panting.

“Um,” Will says, and when Paul can bring himself to look up he’s beautifully flushed, lips bitten red.

“Yeah,” Paul says, embarrassment sliding somewhere under the desire that’s still holding the fort.

“I guess I’ve been bottling things up,” Will says after a moment, squeezing his eyes closed for a long beat.

“Apparently,” Paul says, letting Will take the lead now he’s not successfully manipulating Paul into — _God_ , into what could very easily have digressed into public sex, which isn’t something Paul’s ever…

 _Well_.

“I should probably deal with that,” Will says, and bites his lip, watching Paul warily. “The town stuff, I do kind of mean it. But I didn’t— Not the stuff about you. I _lo_ — I _like_ all that stuff about you. A lot.”

“Okay,” Paul says, and knows he’s not ready to let it drop quite yet. At least not until they’ve talked about it without added endorphins. “Please don’t ever call me Saint Paul again.”

“Okay,” Will says, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, a _real_ smile, the sort that settles softly between Paul’s ribs. “Kinda can’t be totally upset about the situation it got me in, though.”

They’re still stood too close, Paul’s knee between Will’s legs, hands resting against Will’s hips, and no one who sees them is going to think they’ve been up to anything except what they have. Paul should be flushed with shame, should be upset, should be a lot of things.

“Next time you want to make out in public,” he says instead, “maybe just _ask?_ ”

Will’s eyes go dark.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and dark and apparently hosting an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, “sure.”

“I’m going to stop pulling your chair out for you now,” Paul says, finally stepping away, the night air cool against his heated skin, “by the way.”

“Damn,” Will says, looking contrite. “Seriously though. I’m sorry. That was really shitty of me.”

“It was,” Paul says.

“I’m definitely going to look into a therapist who isn’t my grandmother,” Will says. “And also never take my issues out on you again.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Paul says, and reaches for Will’s hand with a sigh. “I get it, you know? These last few months have been like something out of a bad eighties movie for you. It’s understandable that you’d need to vent sometimes. Just, _at_ me not _about_ me in the future, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will says, and he’s looking at Paul the way Paul’s becoming selfishly used to, like Paul hung the moon. “I promise.” He licks his lips. “We good?”

“We’re good,” Paul says, squeezing his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Will nods and leans close to Paul as they walk, nudging their shoulders together, like he can’t bring himself to move out of Paul’s orbit.

“Hey,” Will says, after the silence has stretched into something natural and easy and _them_. The calm after the storm. “So, out of interest, roughly how _often_ can I ask to make out in public—?”

“Oh, God,” Paul says, and thinks maybe — just _maybe_ — the fight was worth it when Will’s laughter follows them all the way home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [tumblr.](http://madroxed.tumblr.com/)


End file.
